Crisscrossed Twinings
by Folding Turtles
Summary: Max: the dissatisfied debutante. Fang: a gang biker. Angel: devious as always. Iggy: Fang's accomplice. Lissa: a total babe. Dr. Gunther-hagen: evil scientist turned plastic surgeon. Larghanhas (OC): his dorky son. Throw in some romance, betrayal, a family feud, and a really weird laptop. Mix. And this is what you'll get!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I guarantee, this story is going to get weird.**  
**But first, some general ground rules:**  
**1. I don't really know how old the characters in this are. I'd say, probably around fifteen, sixteen, tops. **  
**2. This is based loosely on Romeo and Juliet, as well as Maximum Ride. **  
**3. There are two stories going on simultaneously. You'll see what I mean later.  
4. Although I do not own _Maximum Ride_ or _Romeo and Juliet_, I totally own _Crisscrossed Twinings_.**

* * *

Chapter 1

"Are you done yet?" I ask M&M.

"I will be as soon as you quit asking me that question!" M&M shoots back. His fingers tighten on the keyboard, hard at work. His face is frozen into one of concentration and steely focus.

I back away a little, serious worried that M&M is going to get mad at me. And, if he gets mad at me, then that'll ruin any chance I have of having my _own_ laptop.

TGIF – _to the max_. This entire week has been hectic and tense. M&M and I were assigned to work on some English report together and well – we don't really get along the greatest. The teacher who slapped the two of us in the same group honestly has no idea of compatibility among students. He would've had an easier time plucking the spots off a Dalmatian than trying to squeeze a decent report out of us.

See, the whole class was divided into groups of two – teacher's pick, of course. Each group's assignment is to choose a novel or play from a list the teacher tacked to the classroom door, read and analyze it, and then write an "insightful, though-provoking paper on the literature of your choice, the content of which will be presented to your classmates in a professional manner at the end of the week after the next."

It sounds just delightful, doesn't it?

There's a catch to the whole "literature of your choice" part, though. It's only your choice if you can make up your mind fast enough and trample over the other students to run over to the teacher's desk and tell him your pick. No two groups can do the same thing. It's to prevent cheating and plagiarizing, I think. Well, M&M and I have _completely_ different tastes in just about everything, not excepting literature. M&M is more of a fantasy-dragon-quest kind of person – stories that are the pure embodiment of Minecraft. But I – I prefer books like Maximum Ride.

So, we were staring at the list of possible report topics, bickering about which one to choose. Each time I suggested something, M&M would say, "Seriously? That one?" The ones he had interest in, I just couldn't stomach. In the end, out whole class was done picking, and we were still pointing fingers and arguing. Geez, time flies when you're in full-out debate mode, you know? I didn't even notice everyone else had already sat back down. Neither did my despicable partner, M&M.

Our teacher then said placidly, "It looks like you're the last group."

M&M and I turned out heads at that.

"There's only one title left, so you'll be reading that…" the teacher continues.

M&M crosses his arms and mutters belligerently under his breath, "Thank god that's settled."

The teacher neatened up a stack of papers and said to us, "Folding Turtles, M&M, you two will be reading _Romeo and Juliet_."

M&M and I looked at each other, bewildered, and then at out teacher in disbelief.

"What?! No! Isn't there anything else?" I spluttered.

Of course, my classmates start snickering. "M&M and Folding Turtles, on _Romeo and Juliet_… This otta be gooood…" I heard someone say.

"I'm afraid not," the teacher said, peering down at a paper on his desk.

"Then, can't we switch partners? I am not working with _that_," M&M glared at me contemptuously. His words were more like poison than real words. I let out a breath indignantly and turn my head around, refusing to look at my partner.

"No," our teacher said. He was as calm as ever. "I explained to everyone before that there will be no switch-sies on this project."

Someone else behind me chuckled. "Hey, dude, can you believe the Teach said 'switch-sies'?"

"And," our teacher continued, "You will call _that_ by her name."

M&M growled and looked at the ground.

"Okay, then can we not work as a group, and read the play by ourselves?" I pleaded.

And then there came another adamant, solid, concrete wall of a "NO."

"Please? We really don't…" I began, but the teacher cut me off.

"No excuses. You will find a way to get along. If things end in a bloodbath, you two will talk with me after school. For right now, you are holding up the class," the teacher said.

"Yeah, Folding Turtles, you holding up the class," someone hissed at me.

My ears turned red. I whipped around and told that person to shut up.

"It isn't a very difficult read. You both are great readers, so comprehension should not be an issue. If you really get into the play, it's actually kind of fun," the teacher said with a little laugh. "Take your seats now. I'm going to explain the project."

M&M and I glowered at each other. We shot a nasty look at our teacher, but it wasn't of any good because he was too busy straightening up a stack of papers on his desk to see it. When I got back to my seat, I slammed my head down into my arms. _That's it_, I thought. _We have officially been sentenced to eternal doom_.

That was four days ago. Since then, M&M and I have tried to be civil during the times that we work together, but the fragile diplomacy never holds out very long. Pretty soon, we're both at each other's necks. I don't see how this project will ever work. We're simply too different – too combustible next to each other.

Then yesterday, when we starting on a prewrite/planning paper for our essay (The teacher was right out that part. We _do_ read fast.), things did not go well. M&M has a laptop; I don't; so M&M always brings it to the library, where we go to work. During the planning session, I wanted to type one thing and M&M another. A few fights and a really messed-up Word document later, the librarian kicked us out with strict orders to not comeback until we are "capable of respecting library etiquette".

That little mishap means right now, we're at my house.

But, back to the story.

Outside, we started blaming each other for who's responsible for getting us both tossed out of the library. That argument never came to an end, but we decided that most of the blame rests on the fact that we only have one laptop to share. Since sharing with each other isn't part of our vocabulary, M&M and I decided things might not be so rough if we each had separate workstations.

"Then, you can do what you want, and I can do what I want, and we'll morph them together at the end," was what M&M told me.

That was the _only_ time we will ever agree on something.

We parted to walk home. I knew we would be stalled until I could scrounge up the money to buy a laptop. I wasn't really concerned about the time, though. We were ahead of schedule, anyway.

So I was walking and walking…

The day was getting dark. I saw a shadow behind me. Sometimes, it would disappear behind trees and buildings, but there was no denying the fact that I had a stalker on my tail. I steeled myself to punch that guy's living daylights out if it really had to come to that.

Then, a bush rustled, and a man jumped out in front of me.

I skidded on my feet and curled my hands into fists. _Don't mess with me_, I thought.

The man approached me, hands held out. He looked like a strange, mutated combination of Shakespeare and James Patterson. He had Shakespeare's frilly collar and hairstyle thing going on, and also Patterson's under-chin wobble and wire-frame glasses. _Okay, now this is plain weird_, I thought.

"Are you in need of a laptop?" the JP/Shakey guy asked me.

"Ummm…" I backed away slowly one or two steps.

The mutant guy produced a chrome-gray laptop from thin air and held it out to me. "Take it," he said without any trace of menace.

"No, that's… you can keep it," I said cautiously.

"No, it's yours. Take it," the mutant guy insisted.

"Really? Geez, that's…"

"It's yours. It's free."

I blinked. "Whoa, really?" Come on, who doesn't like free stuff? I snatched the laptop out of mutant guy's hands "Thanks!"

"This is the key to unlocking both of your potentials – to healing an ancient wound. Use it well; use it wisely. And with that, I depart. **{Note 1}**" The mutant guy's voice echoed creepily in the air.

I was about to ask him what meant by that fortune cookie omen, but then the guy started fading away right after he finished talking. Then, it was just me, my strange new laptop, and the descending night.

Naturally, when I got home, the first thing I did was turn the laptop on. _The guy said it was mine, right?_ I thought. Startup was fine, but then the laptop asked me to log in. I was like, okay… And I tried a couple of combinations I usually use (which I will not reveal to you), but they didn't work. _But the guy said it was mine_, I thought.

Frustrated and spooked, I turned my new laptop off and went to bed. Then, I got an idea. _There's one person I know what can break into that laptop_, I thought. _I'll have to go to that person for help, as much as I detest the guy_.

Earlier this morning, I showed M&M my new acquisition and told him what happened last night.

"So, can you break the password?" I asked.

M&M is great with computers, so I figured I had this one in the bag. Instead, I got:

"Are you out of your mind, Folding Turtles?! Who knows what that guy you met did to bug it? Of course I _could_ break in, but I'm not doing it!"

"Come on! He said it was mind. I don't think anything bad is going to happen," I tried to persuade him.

M&M stared at me for a long time, arms crossed. I stared back. _Staring contest!_ I thought. Our gazes were unrelenting. Finally, M&M turned around and started up my laptop.

"Fine. Let's see what happens. If this place explodes, it's all on you."

I don't think M&M was actually letting me win, though. Secretly, he must have been curious about what was inside that laptop.

A few minutes later, I started bugging M&M about when the laptop would be ready. "Are you done yet? Are you done yet? Are you done yet?" That probably wasn't nice of me, but a minute can feel like an hour when you're waiting for something.

Let's see… I think you're all caught up now, so let's continue.

"I think I got it!" M&M says giddily. His index finger hovers a millimeter above the enter key.

I rush over and stare intently at the screen. We hold out breaths, and M&M presses down on the key.

The screen turns black.

M&M is about to faint, but then two words flash across the screen: Access granted.

We both let out a sigh of relief.

"We're in," M&M says.

"Yeah, see, and it didn't blow us up or anything," I say.

M&M squints at me from behind his thick glasses. "Uh huh… Not yet, anyway. I don't know if there's a time bomb inside or something."

"What're the chances of _that_?" I ask.

I motion for M&M to get out of the chair so I can see. M&M glares at me.

"I got it to function," he says simply.

"And I'm the one who gave it to you to get it to function," I return. "Move it."

M&M grits his teeth, but he complies. I slither in and open up Word.

While we wait for Word to finish "validating" and "processing" M&M taps a fast beat on the floor. I feel his eyes boring into the back of my skull. With a sigh, I turn around and look up at him.

"What?" I ask.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" M&M asks pointedly.

I look at him square in the eye. I don't blink. M&M doesn't either. _Great, another staring contest_.

The angelic consciousness pops up in my head. "M&M is right. Even if you don't like him, you should express your gratitude."

Then, the devilish consciousness makes its appearance. "Aw, don' listen to lil' angel here."

The angelic consciousness elbows its counterpart in the ribs viciously. "Beat it! I'm trying to tell Folding Turtles something."

" 'Ey!" the devilish consciousness protests. "Aren' you the one who's always saying…"

The angelic consciousness claps a hand over its mouth. "Don't listen to this guy. Do what I say," the horribly annoying, always-right voice chides me.

I groan inwardly. "Thank you, M&M." I thought the words would taste like acid on my tongue, but surprisingly, they don't feel that bad.

M&M smiles. The moment is fleeting, and it could have been my eyes playing tricks on my, but I think M&M actually smiled – at me! _Is the world ending?_

There's a beep from my laptop, and I turn around to face the screen again. I expected a blank document, but this one already has test on it. M&M sees the mysterious, out-of-place words and leans in close to the screen.

"What the…" M&M says wonderingly.

The heading to the document catches my attention:

The First Installment of the Story Woven by: Shakespeare's Quill and James Patterson's Typewriter

As soon as my eyes read the words, I jump back, making the chair I was sitting in clatter to the floor. _What the heck is going on…?_ I try to calm myself down.

"Folding T? What…?" M&M begins to ask.

I cut him off. "Those were the guys following me around last night."

"Huh?" M&M is confused. "I thought there was only one guy."

"Yeah, but he was like – a Shakespeare and Patterson mash-up!" I exclaim.

M&M is about to ask me something else, but then my laptop trembles on the table. We both take one step back, fearing for our lives. Then, my laptop starts glowing with an otherworldly light.

Suddenly, a hologram pops out from the screen. At first, it's fuzzy, like the snowflakes on TV. The sound isn't too great, either. Slowly, like it is being tuned, images and voices come into focus.

We see an empty stage, the curtains drawn. The hologram starts zooming in on the center of the stage as the curtains open.

Once the scene in the entirety is revealed, I gasp.

* * *

**So, whaddaya think?**  
**Folding Turtles, out! ;) **

**{Note 1} In the actual play, right about when Romeo is killing himself, he says, "And with a kiss, I die." I know. He's a total drama queen.**


	2. Chapter 2

_PREVIOUSLY:_

_M&M is about to ask me something else, but then my laptop trembles on the table. We both take one step back, fearing for our lives. Then, my laptop starts glowing with an otherworldly light._

_Suddenly, a hologram pops out from the screen. At first, it's fuzzy, like the snowflakes on TV. The sound isn't too great, either. Slowly, like it is being tuned, images and voices come into focus._

_We see an empty stage, the curtains drawn. The hologram starts zooming in on the center of the stage as the curtains open._

_Once the scene in the entirety is revealed, I gasp._

Chapter 2

A total bombshell of a girl gets off the back of a dark haired, olive skinned boy's motorcycle. She takes off her helmet and shakes out her long, glorious, wavy red hair. The light seems to sparkle as her hair bounces through the air in slow motion like it always does in those movies.

_Lissa_.

I grit my teeth and clench my hands.

The boy gets off next, puts his helmet down on his seat, and loops an arm around Lissa's impossibly tiny waist. The guy has a tattoo of a skull with skeletal ravens flying out of its eye sockets across one side of his face, multiple piercings in his lips and nose, and he's wearing the tight, black leather clothing of a gangster biker, but it's unmistakable. This guy is Fang.

"Come on, babe," Fang whispers in Lissa's ear seductively.

Lissa giggles. She bats her lashes and says, "Sure."

The two of them walk up to a house that I know must be Fang's. They go inside, upstairs to Fang's room, and then close the door behind them. Once they're in the sanctuary of a teenage boy's bedroom, the two of them start _totally_ going at it.

Lissa pulls off her black leather jacket and skinny jeans to reveal a hot pink tank top and a matching glittery, hot pink miniskirt underneath. A really, _really_ _mini_ miniskirt. I guess Lissa's the type of gal who likes her necklines low and her hemlines high. Like, seriously? About ninety percent of her body is out there, jiggling around under Fang's exploring hands.

"Oh my god, that girl is _hot_!" M&M says. His eyes are glued on the projecting hologram – more specifically, on certain parts of Lissa.

I slap him mercilessly on his arm. M&M recoils, clutching his arm. A red handprint is starting to appear. He looks at me accusingly.

"You're just like the rest of them," I mutter.

M&M continues to nurse his arm. He didn't hear me.

Fang has somehow pinned Lissa down on his bed while I was trying to tell M&M to not be such a creep, and his hands are slowly roaming their way up north. Lissa doesn't seem to mind. They're still kissing, and as far as I know, they haven't come up for air. With some aquatic training, the swim team would be glad to have them. Of course, Fang would just _love_ that – watching Lissa dive into the pool in a tiny, hot pink, glittery bikini instead of the usual one-piece.

I cover my eyes with my hands. _What the heck? Why did mutant guy give me this laptop so I can be forced to watch this?_

Over my shoulder, I can feel M&M leaning closer to the hologram, no doubt to see everything in higher definition.

"Nnnn…" either Lissa or Fang moans.

I slowly melt inside, and not in the good/mushy/romantic way; it's more like acid. I didn't want to watch, so now they're making me listen? Have they no sense of shame?

…

Wait, let me rephrase that: Has _Fang_ no sense of shame?

I hear a drop of water fall on the table. Gross…

"Dude, you're drooling on my table," I tell M&M in a flat voice.

Something slurps back inside his mouth with a wet sound. "Sorry," he says, although he doesn't sound very apologetic.

"Are you gonna clean that up?"

"Nope."

After five very long minutes, the noises stop, and I squeamishly open my eyes. Fang peels himself off of Lissa. She sits up to rearrange her hair. Fang puts one hand behind his back. He pulls something out of his back pocket.

"Lissa?" he says. "When we're old enough, will you marry me?"

And he pulls his hand out. In the middle of his palm is a thin, black, leather bracelet studded with metal spikes all the way around.

_Oh, this can_not_ be happening._

Lissa squeals and throws herself at Fang. She locks her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and her lips on his – _again_. While they're kissing, Fang feels for Lissa wrist and snaps the bracelet around it.

And now, they're _engaged_.

By a _bracelet_.

Probably because Fang was too cheap to buy a ring.

The scene zooms out, and the curtains close. As soon as the stage is empty, I leap over and pretend to barf. M&M, on the other hand, looks up at the ceiling reverently, his hands clasped under his chin.

"That guy is smooth," he says.

"He was in the original, but he's just a jerk," I say.

"What do you mean, 'original'?" M&M asks me.

I'm about to answer, but then the curtains whoosh open.

I cross my fingers and pray, "Please _don't_ let it be Lissa and Fang again."

M&M crosses his fingers and prays, "Please _let_ it be Lissa and Fang again."

The scene starts out with an extreme close up of a middle aged lady wearing a gooey green face mask.

M&M jumps back away from the screen. "_GYAH!_" he screams.

I smile sinisterly and say quietly, "Yes!"

"Maximum, honey?" the mask lady says in a pinched, nasal tone. Her face doesn't move as she speaks. It is immobile, a plastic statue.

The shot zooms out to show the whole room. A girl with long, hazelnut brown and golden blonde hair rushes in. "Yes, mother?" the girl says, curtsying.

She's wearing a starched, white sundress with a modest neckline of a respectable length. Her hair is pulled back by a white headband, and dainty white calfskin gloves cover her hands and arms all the way up to her elbow. She's more formal and proper, but there is no doubt in my mind. The girl must be Max.

"You made your debut into society last year, but suitors have called yet. That charming grace of yours won't last forever, you know," Max's mom says. Her nasal voice is starting to grate on my nerves.

Max's jaw tightens. Her reply is forced, "Yes, mother."

This must be a topic she doesn't care for.

"And you know, dear, how I was at Gunther-hagen Cosmetics today, for my quarterly Botox treatment?" Max's mom asks.

I snort. _Dr. Gunther-hagen is a plastic surgeon?_

"Yes, mother," Max replies.

_Is that the only thing she can say? _

"'After one becomes a debutante, one's face must always remain as flawless and youthful as that of oneself when one was a debutante,'" Max recites in a dead voice.

_Thank god. I thought the girl was going bum on us_.

"Well, Dr. Gunther-hagen introduced me to his son, Larghanhas. The boy is quite a charming young man," Max's mom waves her hand, her pinky sticking up in the air.

"Because he is rich?" Max inquires stiffly.

Her mom pauses. "Well, partly. He is still a great guy, and I think he would be a terrific match for you!"

"Mother," Max protests, "Larghanhas' father has the _most curious_ mustache, and Larghanhas himself has the _most curious_ eyebrow. Supposing I do as you wish, and we have children, I am sure they will have the _most curious_…"

"Oh, now don't be rude!" Max's mom snaps at her. "You do not know sweetie-Largy very well yet, but you _will_. I have arranged for you two to socialize at the Garden Tea House tomorrow at six. I have sent your yellow blossom dress to the dry cleaner's, and I found the most adorable pair of peach flats yesterday at Saks!"

"_Mother_," Max says through tight teeth and barely restrained anger, "I do not think I will ever _like_ Larghanhas Gunther-hagen, much less _love_ the fellow. Please, do not try to interfere with my life!"

"We shall see what Daddy says about this, Maxine Capulet!" Max's mom says threateningly.

Maxine Capulet… _Capulet_… The mutant guy… And M&M and I were assigned to do Romeo and Juliet… Oh, gosh, what is _this_?

"Daddy will not be in the least bit pleased!" Max's mom calls after her daughter.

"Adieu, mother," Max says tersely. She spins on her heels and walks with sharp, clipped steps back to her bedchamber.

"Oh, such a stubborn little girl," Max's mom says disdainfully. She shakes her head, and a glob of her facial mask slips off her face and onto her designer bath robe. The stain works its terror.

"AHHHH! NO! _NOT MY VALENTINO!_" Max's mom yells shrilly.

The glass chandelier in the living room trembles dangerously.

The scene fades out. When it comes back into focus, I'm looking at an alley behind Max's house.

A small, blonde haired girl with blue eyes and a cherub-like smile is listening to the conversation going on inside the grand mansion. Brick walls saturated with mildew and crooked weeds obscure her from the two feuding females upstairs.

_Angel_.

"Oh, Max, my dearest friend… You are so _sweet_, leaving rich little Largy out for me," Angel's smile contorts into a sneer.

"For my whole life, I have lived in your shadow. You were always richer, more popular; your parents were higher ranked than mine," her voice turns bitter, like she's swallowing bitter medicine. Her fists clench into fists.

"You had the best clothes, the coolest shoes, the newest edition of the iPhone… You had your Daddy wrapped around your little finger. He bought you everything you wanted; he threw the most extravagant birthday parties for you. You were _Little Miss Perfect_," Angel spits out the last three words.

"You're not that special, though. You don't deserve all that stuff – all the praise. I do, but no one ever pays attention to me because you always stole the spotlight." A maniacal glint shines in Angel's eyes.

"But, all that will change!"

She pulls out her phone (iPhone 4s; I can see why she would be mad. Ugh, Angel, _get over yourself._ I have a hand-me-down, flip-cover phone, and I'm not complaining.), and starts setting up reservations at a local club. She's organizing a party that conveniently overlaps with Max's set-up date with Larghanhas. The first people she sends invites anonymously to among several hundred are: Max, Fang, Larghanhas, and Lissa. Then, the deceptively innocent girl cackles in the dark.

The scene fades to black, the curtains close, and the hologram zips back inside the screen.

Word exits out of itself without my permission.

"Hey!" I grab the mouse and try to open Word back up so M&M and I can work on our project, but the clicks are useless. It's like the program went into lockdown mode.

"What was that all about?" M&M asks me.

"I have no idea…"

There's a popping noise, and then two words show up on my laptop's screen:

_Shutting down…_

"WHAT?! NOOO! What are you doing?" I slam my fist down on the keyboard a couple of times – the good _that_ does. "Ow!"

"Folding T, calm down," M&M grabs my hand and stills it so I won't chuck my infuriating laptop across the room.

The laptop's screen turns black. M&M goes over to restart it, but it won't turn on. "Well, this is strange…" he says musingly.

"UGH! Forget it! Looks like we're gonna have to share again," I say.

The rest of this afternoon went – not too bad actually. It's really strange. We got some of our ideas in place.

"_This is the key to unlocking both of your potentials – to healing an ancient wound. Use it well; use it wisely. And with that, I depart."_

Okay. No way. There's no way this is happening...

I have _got_ to get that idea out of my head.

But, maybe, by the slimmest of chances, was mutant guy right? Is the laptop really the way M&M and I are going to settle our old fight?

No! NO!

Out, out, out!

I knock my hand against my forehead to physically clear that disturbing thought.

"Folding T? Are you okay?" M&M asks with a CapriSun straw in his mouth. (We had helped ourselves to refreshments during the _arduous_ studying session. I have a brownie. Hee, hee, hee! I love brownies! _Ahem_, sorry about that. I didn't mean for that to slip. Just… forget I said anything.)

"Huh?" I look up and try to smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

M&M doesn't look like he completely believes me, but since we're sworn enemies and all, he doesn't push it.

* * *

**A/N: See what I mean by "crisscrossed" now? Folding Turtles, out! ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

PREVIOUSLY...

_The laptop's screen turns black. M&M goes over to restart it, but it won't turn on. "Well, this is strange…" he says musingly._

_"UGH! Forget it! Looks like we're gonna have to share again," I say._

_The rest of this afternoon went – not too bad actually. It's really strange. We got some of our ideas in place._

"This is the key to unlocking both of your potentials – to healing an ancient wound. Use it well; use it wisely. And with that, I depart."

_Okay. No way. There's no way this is happening..._

_I have got to get that idea out of my head._

_But, maybe, by the slimmest of chances, was mutant guy right? Is the laptop really the way M&M and I are going to settle our old fight?_

_No! NO!_

_Out, out, out!_

_I knock my hand against my forehead to physically clear that disturbing thought._

_"Folding T? Are you okay?" M&M asks with a CapriSun straw in his mouth. (We had helped ourselves to refreshments during the arduous studying session. I have a brownie. Hee, hee, hee! I love brownies! Ahem, sorry about that. I didn't mean for that to slip. Just… forget I said anything.)_

_"Huh?" I look up and try to smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."_

_M&M doesn't look like he completely believes me, but since we're sworn enemies and all, he doesn't push it._

Chapter 3

"Hey, you know what's weird?" I ask M&M, drumming my fingers on the table. It annoys the heck out of him.

"What?" M&M replies. His voice is strained; his hands are gripping his pencil to prevent themselves from flying up to protect his ears from the _rat-a-tat-a-tat_. Rule number one of an age-old rivalry: Never let your opponent know they are winning. That little, unspoken rule really tests our self-control sometimes.

We're in English right now. Our teacher told us to get with our partners and refine out theses for the paper due at the end of the next week. For most of our classmates, that means going through the finer points of their positions and really deciding what they want to say. For M&M and I, it means going through this huge list we made the last (literally) time we were in the library and pick a topic. Yeah…we're a little behind. We may be good readers, but we are definitely not good compromisers.

It's like déjà vu with the reading choices list all over again. I really hope the teacher won't stick his hand in our business again. It's bad enough that M&M and I, of all the possible project partner combinations in the world, got stuck with _Romeo and Juliet_, of all the possible project readings in the world. We don't need to exacerbate issues by having the teacher say something like, "Why don't you discuss the emotions of the main characters before, during, and after their romantic entanglement? _It's the only topic left on the list. Bwah ha ha ha!_"

Okay, so maybe I'm going overboard. There isn't really a list of prescribed presentation topics, but still – you can imagine the nightmare I'm going through.

"Folding T?" M&M waves a hand in front of my face. The uber-sharp point of his number two pencil dances a millimeter away from my eyes.

"Gah! Seriously, you've gotta watch where you wave that thing. It could take someone's eyes out," I admonish him.

M&M twirls the pencil on his fingertips, making it spin like a propeller. He leans back on the two hind legs of his chair and says, "No harm, no foul."

I glare at him. Oh, there will be plenty of foul.

Boy, wouldn't it be great if his chair tipped over? I only need to nudge it a fraction of an inch and Sir Isaac Newton's famous law of gravitational pull will take care of the rest. The floor will attract the chair; the chair will…

"Is everything alright over here?" The teacher peers down at us. I feel like he's staring into our souls.

M&M sits up properly, and I retract my telltale finger that was about to give M&M's chair a little, harmless poke. I busy myself with papers, and M&M does the same. It's so lame – you can _totally_ tell we're faking.

"Fine and dandy," I say, flashing the most plastic, blinding smile at out scrutinizing teacher.

"Hmmm…" The teacher gives us the evil eye. He looks at us that way for a long time. I start to sweat from the nerves. He finally walks away, but he keeps his head turned so that his eyes are still drilling through us long after his body had left.

"Fine and _dandy_?" M&M questions my choice of words after the teacher (and his eyes) is gone for good.

"You think you can come up with something better under pressure? Next time, you do PR," I grumble.

"PR?" M&M asks, confused.

I smirk. "Really, don't you know anything?"

Just FYI, PR stands for public relations.

"Fine. How do you build a fence in Minecraft?" M&M lashes back.

"Why would I need to know that?"

"Why would I need to know what PR is?"

"Because everyone does."

"_Everyone_ also knows how to build a fence."

"I doubt Nudge does."

"What kind of a name is that? And who is he?"

"_She_, you dummy, and it's a perfectly awesome kind of name," I defend.

"No, it's not. It's stupid."

"You just think so because you don't know her."

"Because I don't _need_ to!"

I get an idea to end this tiff once and for all. "Do you know what a lemon is?"

"Of course I do. It's a type of yellow citrus fruit."

"No, there's something else, too," I bait him.

"No there isn't. You're being stupid."

"Yes, there is."

"Really, what is it, then? _Oh, I know!_ You're gonna lecture me on its pH level, aren't you, smarta*?"

Oh, no he didn't! "It's something you'd really, _really_ like… _If_, you knew what it is."

"What?"

"You'll find out later." I smile wickedly. Point to _moi_.

"Jerk."

"The real jerk is the one who calls others jerks," I say in my most Aristotle-y/philosophical voice. I pretend to stroke my imaginary beard while contemplating in a grave and serious manner.

"Are you calling _me_ a jerk?" M&M asks, flabbergasted.

"Hello, I am Dr. F," I say is a snobby voice. "Mr. M, do you always doubt yourself like this? This may be the sign of a serious and rare…"

"Forget it," M&M cuts me off. "There's just no reasoning with you."

"Hey, you know what I said before, about what's weird?" I ask after I mentally log another point.

"_No_. I am _not_ going to talk to you," M&M turns the cold shoulder.

"You just did, and it's about that story in the hologram."

"I said _going to_, as in, future tense, and what about the hologram?"

"Well, you said _going to_ earlier, in the past, when you meant the future, but now is the future, which means you broke what you said in the past about not talking to me in the future, and I feel like the story's familiar somehow."

"I meant _future_ in the past like whenever I want to initialize the future, and I do, too."

"You can't _initialize_ a verb. Grammar isn't code, and what do you think it is, that story?"

M&M looks at me for a long time before resorting to the last weapon in his arsenal of insults, "Jerk."

"Ha! Like I've never heard that one before!"

The rest of class was just _so_ productive. The teacher dismisses us when the bell rings.

When we're going out the door, I ask M&M, smirking, "Hey, do you know what a _lime_ is?"

"Arrgh! I am not playing any more citrus fruit innuendo games with you!" M&M rushes out of the classroom.

And that would be _point number three_, but who's counting?

After school, we meet at my house. M&M grabs a CapriSun from the fridge. I start up my laptop and his. (No brownies for me today; my parents happen to love them, too. I think they raided the pantry sometime around midnight on Sunday, yesterday.)

M&M pulls up a chair. He sits down, slurping his juice and shaking his foot. The sound and the motion at the edge of my peripheral vision get on my nerves.

"Can you stop that?" I ask politely.

"What?" M&M grins sardonically. "Is this _bothering_ you?"

Snap. I shouldn't have said that.

The slurps get louder, the foot shakes faster. I grit my teeth and force myself to block the sound and motion out of my head. _Zen… Inner peace… Ommmm…_

I start Microsoft Word on my laptop, expecting a blank document, but again getting:

The Second Installment of Shakespeare's Quill and James Patterson's Typewriter

"What the heck?" I try to close out, but the program won't let me.

"Huh? What's up?" M&M stops slurping and shaking his foot to hop behind my shoulder and take a look at my laptop.

When he sees, he says, "Again? Folding T, I think the guy who gave you this laptop bugged it, and he's tracking you right now."

"Why would…?"

The hologram projection pops out again. (I seriously have no idea how it's doing that.) The curtains open, the scene focuses, and we watch as Max gets out of a shiny black Mercedes wearing sunglasses and a light blue, pleated dress and carrying an oversize designer tote bag on her arm.

"Bye, daddy!" Max calls. She turns around to blow three air kisses at the car before it drives away.

"Rich snob," M&M says with disgust.

"You don't know that. You don't know her," I say, trying to save the revamped version of one of my favorite characters.

Angel skips over to join Max. Her blonde hair is perfectly curled. She has the exact same bag as Max. "Oh, Max!" she says with a bright smile, hiding a grimace underneath. "We match!"

"Oh my god, you are correct! Is this not superb?"

"I know, right?" Angel squeals with her bestie before turning around and silently cursing. That girl has a large vocabulary, alright.

A chariot being drawn by six white horses pulls up

(_She'll be comin' around the mountain when she comes. She'll be comin' around the mountain when she comes. She'll be comin' around the mountain; she'll be comin' around the mountain; she'll be comin' around the mountain when she comes. _

_She'll be ridin' six white horses when she comes. She'll be ridin' six white horses when she comes…_)

A boy who looks like the splitting image of Dr. Gunther-hagen gets out. He's dressed in a sharp, impeccable, gleaming white suit. He waves goodbye to his chauffer, and when he turns around, I can see that he has the bushiest, most caterpillar-like of an unibrow crawling across his face. Eek! For a guy who has a plastic surgeon for a father, that is one monster in need of a machete – or a bushwhacker.

"Largy!" Angel exclaims.

"What a joy," Max mutters. She throws on a smile and heads over to greet her new, forced-on-her beau.

The scene cut to another section of what I think is a school. Fang, Iggy, and a few other guys are sitting on the curb, totally decked out in leather, studs, and chains. Their bikes are a few feet away, and they're smoking something that I presume is worse than tobacco.

"Dude, why're you tying yourself down so soon?" Iggy asks Fang.

A clique of girls walks past. They giggle and wave, acting like total dorks. One of them actually works up the nerve to say hi to Fang.

M&M ogles.

I roll my eyes.

Fang lifts his hand lazily to acknowledge them. The girls shriek happily and walk away whispering among themselves, trying to decipher which one Fang was waving at.

M&M looks like he's just seen a god.

I think, _Big whoop_.

"See man, they're all over you," Iggy says. Is that… jealousy?

"No one can compare with Lissa. She's, like, the hottest girl out there," Fang says calmly.

"You'll change your mind," Iggy says with confidence.

"No, I'm set. You won't find anyone out there who's better than her," Fang says.

"Really? Okay, there's a party tonight at that one club. Let's go and see if Fang'll change his mind. There's gonna be tons of hot chicks there," Iggy says, nudging Fang with his shoulder.

"Sounds okay. I'll go, but I don't think you're gonna be right," Fang concedes.

The gang gets up, snuffs out the-whatever they had been smoking on the sidewalk, and buries them at the bottom of the school trash cans' abyss. They're walking to the doors, flaunting their coolness, when another boy runs across the schoolyard, perpendicular to the gang's direction of travel.

Iggy and Fang crack their knuckles. The rest of the guys do the same. Their leather gloves squeak.

"Ey, Montague, ready to kick some wimpy Capulet a*?" Iggy asks Fang, a mean glint in his eyes.

"I was born ready," Fang replies.

(_I was born this way hey! I was born this way hey! I'm on the right track baby I was born this way hey! _I don't know what's gotten into me…)

He leads the way, his and his gang stalking the boy like he's prey. The boy must have heard the menacing crunch of the gang's feet on the gravel, because he turns around, mouth set in a determined line. The scene zooms in, and I recognize the face.

I can't believe Fang has turned into this brutal gang leader. I can't believe they're targeting this poor kid.

I can't believe they're going to beat up…

* * *

**A/N: Who is it? Gentle (sort of, anyway) Gazzy? Arrogant (sort of, again) Ari? Despicable (all the way, no sugar coating this one, baby) Dylan? Find out next week, or the week after that; it depends on how busy I am. **

**A note on the profanity: I've never cursed before in my whole life, and I never will. That doesn't mean I don't know the bad words out there. So, anytime someone says one of the_ Forbidden_, I will write the first letter, followed by an asterisk. **

**Oh, also, I write all these chapters by hand first, so there's this huge bump that developed on my finger. And you know what? It's kinda numb. Heh, heh, heh...**

**Folding Turtles, out! ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I understand what you're trying to tell me through your reviews, Guest 1 and Guest 2. However, this story will not follow the characters - not really, anyway. I'm taking more from the setup and relationships of the characters. Although the characters may be contorted, at the roots, they are still the same people. I guess this story is more of how things would unfold if the characters were either extremely exaggerated versions or the complete polar opposite of themselves. I hope you'll understand why I'm taking my liberties with the characters. **

**Folding Turtles, out! ;)**

* * *

Chapter 4

"Hey, little Ari Capulet, goin' somewhere?" Fang walks up to Ari, the boy who had been going into the school building. It is quite paradoxical that he calls Ari "little". From what I can see, they're about the same height and have the same bulk.

Ari narrows his eyes. He doesn't back away and stands his ground. "Whaddaya want?" Ari growls with contempt. He stares Fang in the eye.

Some of the other students start to take notice of the confrontation. They gather around at a respectable distance. A few take out their phones and videotape the showdown.

"My fists are hungry for some new meat," Fang says.

The crowd gets larger. _Oooo_s ripple through the onlookers. An idiot decided to start the chant. _"Fight, fight, fight, fight!"_ God, don't they have anything better to do with their time?

Fang throws the first punch.

After that, it's pandemonium. Ari is seriously like a flying kung fu master or something. He takes on Fang and his gang by himself. There's the sound of grunts, fists and feet connection with skin, and bones popping. I wince every time someone gets hit.

The crowd goes wild. People make bets on who they think is going to win, and money circulates.

Max and Angel are nowhere to be seen. They probably already went inside and are wondering why no one else is in class yet. The teachers must be curious as well.

Two guys sneak up behind Ari as he's trying to hold off Fang and Iggy. Ari doesn't notice the ambush effort. The two guys pounce on him and bring him to the ground with a malignant tackle. Two more guys come from the side and pin Ari's arms down. The first two sit on his legs. Ari tries to buck them off, but it is all in futility. The four bikers don't budge.

A wave of "Ohhh!"s pass through the crowd.

Fang walks up to Ari, his shadow completely covering the helpless boy on the ground. He stands tall and proud. Fang lifts his fist, about to smash it down into the back of Ari's skull, when the front door slams open. A terrified onlooker shouts at the top of his lungs, "Teacher!"

Instantly, the phones are tucked away. The students scatter like frightened rabbits. Fang's gang stops what they're doing and they disperse as well. Fang starts to run for his lift, but the teacher grabs him by the scruff of his neck. The others in his gang manage to escape in time. Ari slowly gets up from the ground and dusts himself off.

"Mr. Fang and Mr. Ari: how many times have I told you to leave your family strife at home? Do not disturb the calm and safety of the School's learning environment by beating each other's brains out," the teacher says. It's a lady. She has the perfect, runway-ready body, a flawless face, and statuesque height.

"Yes, we understand, Principal D," Fang says after the lady sets him down. He massages his neck.

"I don't think you do," the principal says. "This keeps reoccurring, and I am always forced to break it up."

"This will be the last time you do that, Director, I promise," Ari says.

Is he actually…_scared_?

And did he just say "Director", as in – _the_ Director?

"Ari, as much as I would like to believe you, past evidence leads me to a different conclusion. There will have to be repercussions for this…_abominable_ behavior," the principal says.

Both boys' faces pale when she says that, like she has sentenced them to the death penalty. I recognize that expression very well. It's also the one people make when they're stuck with their nemesis on a stupid English project, assigned the worst possible piece of literature to do together, and…

Ahem.

I got a little carried away.

"Ari, Fang." The principal looks at each of the boys in turn.

Can I believe my eyes? Is Fang actually trembling?

"You will both serve three terms of detention with me, in my office, for one hour after the end of School," the principal says.

"What?! That's not fair! I have stuff to do!" Fang protests.

Ari crosses his arms, looks at the ground, and fumes silently.

"You should be glad that your punishment is not more severe," the principal reprimands them, wagging her finger (index, not the _other_) at them. "I could suspend, maybe even expel, you for your atrocious behavior today."

At that, Ari and Fang pause. I see fear running across their eyes. Hmmm… Ari's fear is understandable; he comes from a family that is all about appearances – Max's. But Fang? At least, the new him, anyway.

He has all this stuff: a wicked motorcycle, the biker clothes, the metal accessories, and the _presence_. Someone must have paid for all of that. Someone empowered – enabled – him to act like the flippant jerk he is. And I doubt it's himself. This Fang probably wouldn't work a single day in his life.

It's just a guess, but I think his sponsor must be his parents. If he can't stay in School… He'd definitely be cut off. It's a wonder his parent haven't cut him off yet – made him a pauper – what with the way he acts. They probably don't know, which means Fang is not only the ultimate biking gang leader, he's also a pretty darn good liar. Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. Where's the Fang I used to know?

Fang's attitude does a full 180 in the next second. He seems very sincere now, grateful, and…_nice_.

"Yes, Director. We understand now. We have made mistakes many times in the past, but it won't happen again," he says.

_Adding "good actor" to the list…_

Ari quietly blows a stream of air through his nose and rolls his eyes in a wide arc, as if saying, "What a total kiss-up."

The principal's face softens. She pats the two boys affectionately on their backs and says, "That's nice to hear. I'll see you this afternoon. Do not be tardy; promptness is essential to the propagation of your educational career."

It's a thinly veiled threat, covered up with smiles and fancy words. It shows that at least not every female in this play is a total sucker for Fang because they're in love with him. The gooey-ness of the melting girls' hearts was about to make me barf. Not: Gooey is good – in pastries, not in romantic entanglements.

"You can count on us, madame," Ari says with a cheerful smile equally as fake as Fang's.

A trace of anger flashes across the Director's face, but she quickly smothers the flame. Something Ari said must have insulted her, but he didn't know, or he wouldn't have spoken those words in a situation where the fate of his education rests precariously in an irascible woman's hands.

_Her hands!_

They're unadorned with jewelry except for a thin silver band around her right index finger. There are no rings of _importance_.

The French term "madame" most commonly refers to married woman, and the principal, with her supermodel figure and good looks, is still single. How could that be?

The principal walks away to go to back inside the School. The students who had been waiting out the storm by acting normal begin to file in after her.

"Douche," Ari mutters in Fang's direction as they turn around to leave.

Fang stops in his tracks and flips Ari off before walking off again.

Ari can only barely contain himself. He repeats the mantra, "You're better than that Montague scum" over and over.

When Fang meets up with his posse, Iggy claps him on the back. "Hey, my man, took some heat from the Big D over there, huh?"

Fang shrugs his hand off. "You guys bailed on me. Not cool."

"We just…couldn't have helped you without making it worse," Iggy fumbles around for an explanation that wouldn't make him get his butt kicked by Fang.

"Yeah, I get it. I prob'ly would've done the same thing."

"What'd she say?" Iggy asks.

"Detention, three days," Fang replies to a chorus of "Oooo" and "Sorry 'bout that, man".

Iggy grins. "Hey, wanna know something that'll cheer you up?"

"Try me," Fang says.

"You know, how there's ISS?"

"Yeah, in-school suspension."

Or the International Space Station. It depends on is you're talking with a delinquent or a scientist.

"You're doin' the time _after_…"

"Don't remind me about it."

"_A_fter _s_chool _s_uspension," Iggy says, stretching out the words.

Fang smiles wryly.

M&M hoots with laughter.

I do a facepalm.

The scene fades into a classroom. The teacher is giving a lecture about the "wonderful" chemical reactions that occur in active yeast. The students are nodding off to sleep. Someone's actually drooling on the packet of yeast the teacher had put on everyone's desks. Heh. That guy's mouth is going to feel really weird after 10 minutes. **{Note 1}**

Angel leans over to tap Max's arm. Max looks at her. Angel holds up a finger in the "wait a second" gesture and pulls her phone out of her purse (that matches Max's, remember?). She motions with one hand for Max to get her phone, too, and texts with the other.

Max glances cautiously at the teacher. Her back is turned, and there is seemingly no end to the chemical equation she's scrawling on the board. Half the whiteboard is filled with neat lines of symbols in font size 11, and she's still chugging along. The teacher is babbling as she writes, explaining the glyphs on the board in a flat, monotonic voice.

The coast is clear.

Max extracts her iPhone 5. She makes sure the phone is muted.

A text comes up, sent from Angel: _r u going 2 party 2nite?_

Max reads it, and, confused, types back: _what party?_

Angel rolls her eyes and sends: _only d coolest, most awesome party eva! local club, 6. u got invite, rite?_

Max replies:_ ange, i don't think mom'll let me._

_she can't control u. check ur messages. every1 got invited. _

Max does as Angel says, and sure enough, there's an invitation, but no number that it was sent from.

_who's party is it?_

_who cares? gonna b awesome!_

_ange, I can't go. mom set up w/ blah-larghanhas 6 2nite._

_come on, u don't even like him!_

Max thinks for a little bit, her heart being tugged in two directions. In the end, the devilish side winds. _ur rite. I'll go. sounds fun_.

_YAY! gonna b totes amazing! Ttyl_

The girls shut their phones off simultaneously and drop them into the cavernous depths of their tote bags. They're just in time. As soon as they return to normal sitting-and-listening-and-taking-notes position, the teacher in standing over them. The uncapped Expo marker is in her hand; the chains from her droopy glasses are swinging; her arms are crossed; and her foot is tapping.

And that glare – that piercing glare.

Max smiles sweetly to let the teacher know that nothing was happening. After one long second, the teacher is satisfied and she goes back to her domain.

That's when the scene fades out. The curtains close, Word closes out, and my laptop shuts down.

"What! AGAIN!" M&M exclaims. He reaches over my shoulder and furiously taps a few keys to ty to coax the screen back to life, but it doesn't work. The screen stays dark.

"Well-p, looks like it's sharing time again!" I say in a fake happy voice.

M&M groans, but he doesn't say anything else and I pull my chair up to his laptop, and we begin to work.

_Why_, I think. _Why does my laptop keep acting so strange? And what is up with the whole "Shakespeare's Quill" thing?_

_And why do I keep feeling like I've seen this story somewhere else?_

_Why?_

_Why?_

_Why?_

* * *

**{Note 1} To activate yeast:**  
**1) Pour in a cup or so of warm water.**  
**2) Put in a few spoons of sugar and dissolve.**  
**3) Stir in the yeast.**  
**4) Wait for 10 minutes while alcohol and carbon dioxide does its magic.**  
**5) You will end up with a gigantic, puffy dome of fluffy yeast.**


End file.
